Domestic Affairs by Joyce Maynard

Author:Joyce Maynard [Maynard, Joyce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-6131-6
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media LLC
Published: 2012-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

END OF ENDURANCE

Dressed for Snow

Tomato Sauce

Mom’s Problems

Flipping Out

Five-Mile Road Race

IT WAS THE MORNING after our first real snowfall of the year, and school had been called off. I didn’t go out to work, which meant I had an extra half hour to hang around in my nightgown, refilling cereal bowls. And then everyone wanted to go outside and investigate the snow.

Since this was the first storm of the season, we didn’t really have our winter routine down yet. I had to go up to the attic and dig out our collection of snowpants, to locate an old pair of Audrey’s for Charlie and an old pair of Charlie’s for Willy. I dumped a bag of mittens on the middle of the floor, in search of pairs, and found (what would the odds be for this to happen, I’d like to know?), among twenty-some mittens, not a single matched set. I untangled a clump of scarves and leg warmers, plus various sorts of novelty headgear: earmuffs in the shape of teddy bears, a hat with bumblebee stripes and antennae sticking up from either side, one of those total face masks, with holes cut out for the eyes, nostrils, and mouth. I found the remnants of a couple of mouse nests in there too, but I’m used to those.

Then it was time to get the children dressed. I weighed the situation for a moment and decided to start with Willy, because he’s young enough not to insist on helping me much, which can be a relief.

So I stripped him of his pajamas. I’m sure I cannot be the only parent in the world who’s observed the sudden and dramatic change in behavior a child undergoes the moment he’s liberated from clothing. Because they love being bare, the taking-off part tends to go smoothly. The only trouble is—once bare, the child disappears (with a whoop and, very possibly, his underpants on his head). Then you spend the next five minutes catching him.

But eventually I got Willy cornered and was able to proceed. I put on his turtleneck shirt (how many thousands of times have I said the words: “Where did your head go? There it is!”). I kissed his belly button, reached for his socks (not a matching pair, of course). But in the split second it took me to get his shoes, the socks were flung behind the refrigerator. And because Charlie was getting impatient to go outside by now, I reached for another pair of socks instead of fishing around for the lost ones.

Overalls. And then the ritual in which I give Willy a penny for his pocket. This morning, because I was harried and rushing, I didn’t (as I usually do) hunt for a shiny one, and I pushed his toes into his boots a little more roughly than I might. He looked faintly puzzled, but unshakably jovial still. I worked his thumbs into the thumb pockets of his mittens. He flung them off. I tied his hat under his chin.

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